The Red-headed God
by Glossopteris Flora
Summary: Admiral Nelson finds himself caught in a time warp, and makes a strange encounter. It's a pity I couldn't include the hieroglyphic parts of the story.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was the coolness of dawn that brought Admiral Harriman Nelson back to awareness. Still in a daze, his head throbbing painfully, he curled up in the dry sand to escape the ache, trying to gather his thoughts. A sharp stone grazed his shoulder, cutting through his drowsiness. Struggling against a bout of nausea, he sat up, trembling with the effort, and his scientist's reflexes instantly kicked in, in spite of his mental confusion. With an almost clinical detachment, he moved his arms and legs, cracked his eyes open to be sure he was not blind, and, with the tips of his fingers, began to explore his aching skull.

A sizeable swelling disfigured his left cheekbone; the whole side of his face was caked with dried blood, oozing from a nasty gash that ran above his temple; the bone was not broken, but his increasing vertigo and nausea sustained a diagnosis of concussion. What troubled him the most, was that the circumstances of the accident, and of the days leading up to it, had been totally erased from his memory.

At least he still knew who he was.

As his sight slowly adjusted to the extraordinary brightness of the sky, he could get a better view of his surroundings. He was lying in a shallow depression that looked like a miniature bomb crater, in the middle of a valley encased by high majestic limestone cliffs. All around him, the surface of the sand appeared vitrified, forming a fragile glassy crust which cracked under the slightest pressure. At some distance, under a thorny bush, a muddy pond attracted an amazingly wide variety of small wildlife.

The bottom of the valley was divided between sharp-edged chaos of rocks, and shallow gullies swamped by scrub vegetation composed of acacias, shrubs, doum palms, euphorbia, thyme, and all kinds of nondescript desert-adapted grass. The place was teeming with life: brightly-coloured insects, lizards, and passerine birds, all trying to eat each other. He spotted a peregrine falcon high in the sky, poised in the air on his vibrating wings, a living image of the Egyptian god Horus. A breathtaking dive wiped it away for a few seconds, before it reappeared, and soared into the sun, with a prey in its talons…

With a mild surprise, Nelson recognized some characteristic features of a region he had visited with Lee during one of their shore leaves together, when he had tried to interest his best friend in Ancient Egyptian history. It was a time when his restless mind craved something really new, a challenge to get him out of the depression following the damage to their friendship, after he had endangered the_ Seaview_ with his irrational paranoia, and Lee had mutinied to save the day. Learning Middle Egyptian on his own, he was soon able to decipher most of the inscriptions he saw in the museums, and to show off before his friends, amazing them with this new evidence of his powerful intellect and eidetic memory. As soon as his deeply complex relationship with Lee had been restored, he had taken him to Egypt, to share his latest passion with him, and Lee, always eager to learn from his mentor and surrogate father, had not objected, even though Ancient Egypt was far from his preoccupations.

Although vaguely familiar, the scenery assumed a threatening strangeness. There were no proofs of human presence, not even the expected footprints that should have marked his passage across the surface which appeared like a fusion crust to his shrewd eye. Strangely enough, the sand looked like it had been subjected to a temperature of several thousand degrees. How had it happened? How had he come to this place? He knew that he could not have achieved the ten meter leap required by his position at the centre of the circular baked crater where he now lay, but the surface looked untouched, as if he had been dropped from the sky. What did that mean, and why had he been carried so far from the usual touristic sites?

Around him stretched the familiar landscape of the Theban region, the arid outskirts of the Egyptian Valley of the Kings. Squinting in the bright morning sun, he thought he could make out the pyramidal summit of El-Qurn, the tutelary mountain that kept vigil on the royal burials hidden in the wadis hollowed out of the scorching hills.

He had visited Egypt several times, but never had he seen so much vegetation so far away from the Nile.

Trying to quell his growing panic, he endeavoured to appraise his predicament with his usual scientific rigor. He had been lying there for several hours, unconscious after several hard blows to the head, probably delivered by a right-handed assailant. Attacks committed against foreign tourists were reasonably rare, but not unknown. A plausible explanation would have been easy, if only he had known what he was doing in Egypt in the first place! The problem was that he didn't remember anything.

Instinctively, he ran his hands over his body to check his few belongings. Surprisingly enough, nothing was missing of the odds and ends he usually kept in his pockets: a small notepad, a pen, a lighter, an almost empty packet of cigarettes, a wallet, and a very expensive watch specially designed to his specifications, which included a GPS and an emergency distress beacon (Lee had the same). The watch was radio-controlled, and automatically adjusted itself by means of a synchronization signal everywhere in the world. He pulled out his wallet, and verified that it still contained his ID, his credit-cards, and the two photos he cherished most: one of Lee with the _Seaview_ in the background, and the other of his sister Edith on the South Beach of Martha's Vineyard. Sliding a hand into his shirt, he made sure he still wore his dog tags.

Whatever had happened to him, robbery was not the motive.

Taking his watch out of his pocket to check the time, he noticed the red alarm that indicated a major dysfunction. The receiver did not pick up any signal at all, although the solar battery was fully recharged, and all the systems were installed correctly, and had been working smoothly since the first day. Surprised, but not yet worried, he tried to get a GPS location, but the miniaturized computer controlling the whole device answered that it did not receive anything, not even an ordinary radio broadcast… He set off the distress beacon, and tried to get an ACK signal, but the previously busy ether had gone completely silent.

If only he could remember… His last memories included a snow-capped mountain range, and an angry little man shouting at him in French, but that made no more sense than his sitting in the middle of an Egyptian valley.

Hearing a bird give a warning cry, he raised his head to look around at the impressive landscape, and what he saw sent chills down his spine.

A man was walking is his direction, with the supple and easy gait of a long-distance hiker. His lean figure was silhouetted against the blazing sky, as he trod carefully down a slope. Tall and slim, wrapped in a crude woollen cloak, displaying the lethal grace of a Maasai hunter, he carried a spear, casually held over his left shoulder, a composite double-curved bow, and a quiver full of long bronze-headed arrows. Apart from his weapons, his meagre luggage included a full goatskin flask, and a rolled reed mat. His feet, shod in robust leather sandals, were covered in dust, and his long legs wore traces of a recent fall. He was around 6' tall, and his dignified bearing made him appear even taller. The more he approached, the more Nelson became aware of his incongruity. Because of the dazzling sun, he could not make out his features very well, but it was obvious that his visitor did not look like the usual inhabitants of these parts of the world.

His attention focused on the short wavy hair that crowned the regal head with a bright red-gold halo.

With a shiver of excitement, he realized that the man was a redhead like him…

Guided by his hunter's instinct, the stranger made a detour, so that the rising sun would always be behind his back. He moved carefully, not really aggressively, but prepared for any eventuality. His slowness of movement, his restrained gestures, tinged with an archaic sense of nobility, conveyed the deadly charm of an antique warrior, straight from an Ancient Egyptian tomb. When he reached the edge of the baked area, he stopped dead, as if he was reluctant to walk on the friable crust.

Unable to identify his ethnic origins, and disconcerted by his mineral stillness, Nelson tried to greet him with the few Arabic words he could put together. The man started at the sound of his voice, but did not leave his vantage standpoint. Careful not to appear menacing, Nelson drew his knees to his chin and hugged his folded legs, preparing himself for a long wait. His mind swarmed with questions. Who was this man? Where did he come from? Why did he look like a character out of a sword-and-sandal film?

After a long and careful consideration, the man came closer, carrying his spear horizontally in his left hand, intrigued by the sound of his feet crunching through the vitrified crust. In a gesture all the more graceful because it was not studied, he planted his spear in the sand, and let his gear and his cloak slide to the ground, revealing a muscular, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped body, clad in a short linen loincloth kept in place by a wide leather belt decorated with embossed geometric motifs, similar to the ones that the Egyptian soldiers wore in a time the Egyptologists called the New Kingdom… A short dagger, sheathed in a scabbard exquisitely embellished with a feather pattern, hung from his belt, and a small purse completed his kit.

He crouched down in front of the befuddled admiral, sitting on his heels, his long, powerful hands resting peacefully on his thighs. The raking light emphasized the planes and reliefs of his muscles, and his carefully waxed chest displayed the scars that were the pride of a fighter. Nelson noticed a slight asymmetry in favour of his left side, denoting a left-handed man with a long and intensive practice of archery. His golden skin was tanned and sunburnt in places, and his forearms were paler where he probably wore wrist bands.

Nelson felt utterly uncomfortable under the steady, searching stare. The stranger's demeanour suggested he was wary, in spite of his curiosity, as sharp intelligence radiated through his large tawny eyes, shadowed by unusually long lashes that had been blackened with kohl, to cut down the harsh glare of the sun. His bony, narrow face, carved by the light into hard angles and soft curves, was the result of a handsome combination of Asian, Indo-European and African characters. He had wide, arched eyebrows above a prominent, hooked nose, large almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and a heavy square jaw. His full-lipped, sensitive mouth was at present tightened in suspicion, but he looked like a man who could laugh easily. A bit of blond, sparse stubble shadowed his unuasually long upper lip. His ears were pierced and stretched in an African-like way, but he wore no jewels. He was in his early forties, as fit as a fiddle, shaped by vigorous physical activity, and some of his scars attested to violent, life-threatening encounters. In spite of his white skin, red hair, and narrow face, it was as if the Eternal Egypt of the Pharaohs had left the darkness of the graves to come and meet a modern dream…

Nelson confronted his overt, seeking gaze, wondering why this strange-looking man kept striking a resonant chord in his brain. He was certain he had never met him in the past; yet, everything about him seemed familiar, from the white loincloth, to the hooked nose. Unfortunately, his thoughts were becoming muddled, and he was growing tired, under the double influence of heat and pain.

Suddenly deciding to make the first step, the stranger reached out, and touched the stars that shone on Nelson's collar. His cat-like eyes, filled with curiosity and wonder, peered at the admiral, as if he was assessing his dangerousness. His long fingers, hardened by many an hour of warlike training, crumpled the soft fabric of Nelson's shirt. A thin smile softened his otherwise haughty features. Very interested in Nelson's clothes, he began to pull at the fabric of the shirt and trousers, showing his growing frustration at not being able to ask any questions. After a thorough examination which made Nelson feel as if he was under the lens of an entomologist, the stranger seemed to become aware of his discomfort, and stood up, pointing to the small pond with his left hand. He began to talk, in a deep and resounding voice, trying to hide his impatience at Nelson's apathy. He spoke quickly, in a rhythmic, melodious tongue, with soft vowels and strong consonants, which bore a remote resemblance to the heavyly accentuated Coptic language Nelson had heard in churches when he had visited Cairo. As Nelson did not react, he tried another language, just as mysterious, before gesturing to his goatskin flask with a tentative grin.

"Moow," he said.

The water was tepid, and tasted of leather, but it refreshed the admiral's parched throat. Nelson nodded his head, and gave a faint grateful smile. The stranger drank in his turn, and launched into a voluble speech, the intonation of which sounded friendly. Completely lost, Nelson yielded to his exhaustion, and hid his head in his hands, despairing of understanding what the stranger's words meant, and knowing that his time was running short. If nothing was done soon, he would go into shock from the concussion, and he doubted his weird-looking visitor was able to tend to him properly, lost as they were in the middle of nowhere.

The man fell silent. Nelson heard him come back, and felt rough fingers on his wounded cheek. He looked up, to meet the concerned stare of golden eyes, and realized that the fears and unspoken questions were mutual. This discovery increased his anxiety. But where was he, to be ogled like an alien by a nomad in Egyptian disguise?

Discreetly, he examined the dagger that hug from the man's belt, similar to many others he had seen in museums, vestiges of a bygone era. The pommel was made of a translucent crystal, and the handle was incised in golden designs and hieroglyphic inscriptions, but his blurred vision did not allow him to decipher them. Was this man a tomb robber, crazed to the point of dressing up like a Pharaoh… or something else?

The man sat, his legs crossed in the well-known scribe's position, his linen skirt stretched on his thighs. With a few apologetic words, as if he was sorry to be unable to ask more politely for them, he snatched the pens protruding from Nelson's breast pocket. He examined them carefully, but they didn't retain his interest for more than a few minutes, and a puzzled Nelson supposed that he didn't know what they were.

To confirm his suspicions, he pulled the cigarettes and the lighter from his trousers, and held them out. The man warily accepted the gift, his nostrils a-quiver at the smell of tobacco. He played with the lighter, studying the mechanism in rapt attention, until he flicked it accidentally. He watched the flame burst into life, shaken by a nervous laughter, until it burnt the tip of his fingers. Surprised, and slightly angry, he threw the offending thing on the ground, before taking it back, ashamed of his childish reaction. Nelson could almost see the wheels of his mind spinning frantically, as he turned it between his powerful fingers, obviously beginning to foresee all the benefits that might result from the possession of such a miraculous object. He carefully placed the lighter and the cigarettes on a stone beside him, and, with a few eloquent gestures, asked for more. Mesmerized, Nelson offered the notepad where he used to doodle during meetings when he was getting bored.

The stranger flicked the pages, intrigued by the drawings and the foreign scripts. Suddenly, his face brightened, his breath quickened, and he held the notepad out to the admiral.

Across the pages, a line of clumsy hieroglyphs proudly declared:

"I am the scribe with skilled fingers."

Nelson did not even remember when he had written them.

"Uh?" The man reached out, and Nelson put a pen in the extended hand.

After a few unsuccessful tries, mostly due to his growing impatience, the man succeeded in scrawling a few signs.

"Who are you?"

Nelson felt his blood freeze in his veins.

The truth revealed itself so clearly that his head spun. The stately bearing, the hooked-nosed profile, and the almost imperceptible stoop of the shoulders… so like his statues. And most of all, the red hair… His reeling mind tried to put the thought aside. It was not possible. It could not be!

Unable to resist his agitation, the red-headed stranger shook the notepad under Nelson's nose, urging him to answer. With trembling fingers, the admiral took the pen, and struggled to remember what he had learned, a few years ago. "My name is… It's a nominal sentence, fairly easy, I have just to put predicate and subject together… The order is not important. Gawd! I'm so tired… 'Nelson' won't work. There are no hieroglyphs for the 'l' sound, as far as I know. Let's go for Harriman, then. I hope he can read my lame Middle Egyptian spelling..."

"My name is Harriman", he wrote, almost choking with emotion.

At last, they had means of communication, even if it was very awkward.

"Harriman…" he said, taping the tip of his pen against the notepad.

The man nodded and tried to repeat. After an amazing small number of attempts, he caught the exact intonation, and laughed at Nelson's stunned expression. Then, without condescending to reciprocate, and say his own name, he took the pen and the notepad to write again, frowning slightly:

"Who brought you, little man?"

Nelson shook his head, unable to formulate an understandable answer, as all the facts slowly came into place, ruled by an implacable logic.

He tried to shut his mind against the unthinkable…

Understanding he had been recognized at last, the man inclined his head with infinite grace, and a disarming smile lit up his face, as an ironic spark danced in his gold-flecked eyes. Dumbstruck, incredulous and exhilarated all at once, Nelson gaped at him in awe, as memories were flooding back. Time and space merged and became one, and he said the man's name, in a voice filled with absolute wonder ...

"Rameses…"

The man inhaled deeply, and repeated, without giving any indication that it was true or not.

"Rameses…"

He pronounced "Riamesesa" with a very soft "a", muffled consonants and a strong tonic accent on the first syllable. His strange, cat-like eyes showed a mix of perplexity, anxiety and satisfaction.

Nelson remembered how he had gone to this place, and in spite of his growing excitement, a melancholic thought arose from the chaos: if he was gone so far into the past, he would never come back to the world he knew, he would never see Lee and _Seaview_ again.


	2. Chapter 2

After sorting through the pile of mail that cluttered his desk, tossing the junk, and filing what he thought important, Lee Crane opened his laptop to check the news, as he did every morning when he worked in his office, on the third floor of the Nelson Institute of Marine Research. Usually, it was only a few minutes before his phone rang, and Admiral Nelson's resonant voice thundered happily in his left ear.

"Lee! Your coffee's ready!"

With an exasperated sigh, he remembered that Nelson, absent for the week, had not yet deigned to call, although he had promised to, as soon as he reached his destination. Lee had bid his friend farewell two days ago at the airport, still seething at the thought of not being allowed to accompany him. _Seaview_ was berthed for minor maintenance work that did not require his continued presence, and he knew how much Nelson enjoyed having him at his side when he was on a business trip. This time, however, the admiral had rather curtly made it clear that he did not need an escort. It was so out of character, that Lee had been instantly alarmed, for the admiral was a rather possessive friend, who disliked being apart from him for more than a few days, even if their time together was mostly spent attending endless meetings or listening to boring speeches. Usually, it was he, and not Nelson, who went on secret assignments, and those did not always end well.

As he focused back on the screen, Harriman Nelson's bright blue eyes stared at him, above a list of news websites that displayed the same shocking headline. Lee gasped as if choking on something black and deadly. Nelson, the man he loved and admired more than anyone else since his father's demise, was presumed missing or dead.

Unable to believe it, he wondered if it was a sick joke. The disaster had befallen him without warning, leaving a gaping hole in his life…

Once more…

"Tragedy under Mont Blanc. Admiral Harriman Nelson, the famous oceanographer who opened the bottom of the seas to human endeavor more than any other explorer, has been declared missing, after a tremendous explosion destroyed the world's largest particle accelerator known as _Helios-II_, and buried it under the Alps. Among the other casualties are two well-known physicists, the French Marc Amont, and the Russian Valery Kozlov… Financed by more than ten countries, and considered a model of international collaboration, the state-of-the-art technology used in _Helios-II_ marked a major advance in particle physics research."

"Breaking news! Admiral Nelson, the last great explorer, dies in a disaster of unknown cause. After an explosion buries the particle accelerator _Helios-II_ under tons of rocks, the scientific community ponders the possibility of sabotage…"

"Suspicious deaths under Mont Blanc: three of the most renowned scientists in the world, including controversial physicist Marc Amont and Nobel laureate Harriman Nelson, are presumed dead in the explosion of a research complex."

"Forbidden experiment or tragic blunder? The disaster that has plunged the scientific community into mourning raises many questions, as do the multiple rumors of secret researches carried out in the gigantic particle accelerator _Helios-II_. Nobody understands what was keeping the French physicist Marc Amont and two other famous scientists, the Russian Valery Kozlov, and the American Harriman Nelson, inside the facility after the technical staff left for the night. Dr. Amont was notable for his controversial theories on time travel…"

Lee staggered towards the window that overlooked the inner harbor of the Institute, where _Seaview_ lay peacefully. In a split second, his life had been shattered. Too crushed even to weep, he abstractedly paced his office, as if the sight of familiar objects was able to push away the realization of what had just hit him. He could not believe it. It was not the first time he had thought Nelson was lost, but it was so unexpected, so sudden, that he was not prepared for it (provided that someone might ever be prepared for the loss of a loved one). Hoping against all odds that he would find some last-minute refutation, he frantically browsed the Internet again, but every piece of news he gathered added to his desperation: ending his brilliant life in a terrible apotheosis, Nelson had been torn from him, as his father had been some twenty-five years ago.

But even then, he had not felt that empty and forlorn.

Never again would the admiral pass through the door with a warm, friendly smile on his rugged features and a steaming cup of coffee in his hands, always bubbling over with enthusiasm at a new project. Never again would they lean together over the plan of an extraordinary device, or spend the peaceful hours of dusk on _Seaview_'s bridge, enjoying each other's company without even saying a word, their minds working in perfect harmony. Never again would Nelson break into Lee's cabin in the middle of the night, so touchingly vulnerable with his crumpled uniform and mussed hair, after endless feverish hours of rumination, with the unmistakable sparkle of victory in his laughing blue eyes, like a prospector who, at last, sees the glint of gold in a handful of mud…

Lee was aware of the rumors about the _Helios_ project. Nelson and he had talked about them several times in the past, and the admiral had hinted that certain intelligence agencies had become interested in Amont's financial partners as well as in the true purpose of his research. A genius and a dreamer, Marc Amont had, during the last ten years, published essay after essay about what was known as the Grand Unification Theory, with the stated goal of dismissing Einstein and Planck as outdated precursors.

Convinced of the value of Amont's studies, the French government had supported his application for the job of general manager of the _Helios _Project. The team he headed officially worked on the relativistic side effects of near-light speed and extreme conditions in a particle accelerator, but in secret it was said that the true object of their research was the immemorial enigma of time travel.

Nelson had met Amont a few times at conferences and scientific meetings, but they had not gotten along very well. Although he was one of the most gifted scientists of his generation, the French physicist, was an arrogant, belligerent, argumentative man, whose behavior stirred instant dislike from all he met. His first weeks as head of the _Helios_ Project had caused the technical staff to walk out in protest against his utter disregard for their health and safety. The intervention of the French Minister of Research had been needed to convince the governments involved in the venture to give up asking for his resignation.

Lee clenched his fists.

One day or another, he would know the truth; he would find where the guilt lay, and take revenge on the culprits if it was anything more than a tragic accident.

Moving like a sleepwalker, he returned to his desk, and picked up the phone. His grief had to wait. There were an awful lot of things to take care of, people to be told of Nelson's… he pushed away the word "death". Nelson was not dead. He could not be. But he was involved in an event that had already made worldwide headlines, and the Institute would soon be besieged by reporters.

"Security…"

The deep voice of the Chief Security Officer helped Lee to focus on his task. He was Nelson's second in command and heir apparent, and his duty was to take over the running of the Institute until Nelson's return, for he would come back, he had to come back.

Wasn't he a miracle worker?

"Lee Crane speaking. Put the Institute and _Seaview_ on maximum security alert. No strangers on the premises until further notice."

"Aye sir."

"The admiral is missing, John. The news of his… disappearance has already leaked out, and I expect a rush of journalists in the hours to come."

"I'm very sorry to hear that. I…"

"Okay, I'll let you know as soon as I've more news."

Unable to sustain a longer conversation, Lee hung up without waiting for a reply, and speed-dialled Chip Morton's house, knowing that he would find his XO at home. His friend's cheerful greeting revealed his ignorance of what was going on.

"Hello morning bird! Already on the warpath?"

"Chip… I… Can you come to my office at once?"

"What's wrong, Lee? You sound like hell. Should I ring Jamie?"

"No. Come. That's all I need right now. Be quick."

Lee swallowed hard to fight the lump in his throat. His vision began to blur. Not now… Not yet. He heard a door open and close quietly in the nearby office. Angie, Nelson's personal assistant, was there. She had to be told.

As soon as he entered Angie's office, he knew that she had already seen the morning papers. She was crying softly, as she started her computer, going through her daily routine with the stiffness of an automaton. They looked at each other without a word, sharing the pain of their loss. Lee touched her arm, getting some reassurance from the physical contact.

"There is no official confirmation, Angie. We can't lose hope," he said flatly, not believing his own words. "Do you want to take the day off?"

"No, thank you, Lee. All hell will break loose when the press hears about the disaster. I have to be here to answer the calls. Working will help. I can't…"

The phone rang, cutting her off in mid-sentence. She pressed the answer button, and took the call in full secretary mode, her voice cold and composed, as if nothing had happened. With an approving nod, Lee headed back to his office, where his own phone was blinking frantically. Angie's fortitude helped him to hold himself together, at least for the time being.

"Crane…"

"Hello Lee, Johnson speaking."

Lee unconsciously straightened his back.

"Sir…"

"I… I'm so sorry, Lee. I have some very sad news."

Admiral Johnson was his commanding officer when he worked for the Office of Naval Intelligence. Lee slumped into his swivel chair, wondering if he would be able to remain composed and dry-eyed, as Johnson continued.

"Nelson's missing, Lee. I feel awfully bad about this, believe me."

"I've read the news on the Internet, sir. Do you know what happened, and what the admiral was doing there?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Lee remembered that Admiral Johnson was a good friend of Nelson's, in spite of their long-running dispute over his involvement with ONI.

"Nelson was on an official mission, Lee… There have been rumors for years, but things have become more serious of late. People working by night, and not clocking in, a lot of coming and going, incidents kept under wraps, and an outsized nuclear reactor, even for the biggest accelerator in the world… We suspected that Marc Amont, and his Russian colleague, Kozlov, had an agenda of their own, and we decided to investigate discreetly. Nelson knew Amont well enough, and we thought he was the right man for the job."

"Who sent him? Why are you and ONI involved?"

"I can't answer, Lee. It's classified, even for someone with your clearance."

"What do you think happened there? A particle accelerator does not explode."

"It might not be the accelerator itself, but the reactor. Yet, no radioactive pollution has been observed so far. The explosion was detected by all the seismometers in Europe around 2300 local time, and the tremor was felt as far as Geneva. Nobody knows about the condition of the installations inside, the access tunnels have caved in, and all the communications with the Control Center are down."

Johnson sighed audibly.

"I'm sorry, Lee. If there are survivors, we have no hope of reaching them in time. Clearing one of the tunnels would take months, and the main concern is about the status of the reactor. I think the French government will want to seal the site."

"Are we sure that Harry… the admiral was inside when it happened?"

"Yes, Lee. His rental car is still in the parking lot, along with Amont's, Kozlov's, and a few others. You are Nelson's legal heir, Lee, and a skilled operative. I want you to go to Chamonix, and retrieve his papers before the French police mess around with the evidence. Only you can tell us if there is something in his hotel room that may provide some clues to what was going on before the explosion."

Lee stifled the pain that was screaming in his whole body.

"You'll have your orders around 1400. I know what I'm asking, Lee, and I'm truly sorry to do this to you, but you are the only one… the most qualified."

Johnson's voice faded to a whisper, and Lee heard the rustle of papers, followed by the sound of somebody blowing his nose.

"Good luck, Lee. Keep me posted. If I can do anything, let me know."

"Thank you, sir. Good bye, sir."

The line went dead. Lee remained motionless, staring in the void, as memories flooded him like a tidal wave. Nelson standing proudly on the dock, the day _Seaview_ was launched, his flaming hair ruffled by the wind, almost dancing with joy, as the majestic boat, his dream come true, glided slowly in the water… Nelson's bursts of temper, always followed by an apologetic and self-mocking smile. Nelson's healing hands brushing his skin to ease a pain, under the sceptical eyes of doctor Jamieson, _Seaview_'s Chief Medical Officer. Nelson's affectionate presence at his bedside, when he lay in sickbay, after a gruelling mission for ONI…

The door opened, and Chip walked in, pale and distraught.

"Oh Lee! Angie told me. I'm so sorry…"

If I hear someone say "I'm sorry" again, I'm going to explode, Lee thought, before standing to greet his friend. As Chip's strong arms enfolded him, Lee gave in to his grief, and allowed himself to cry, at last…

**The previous night**

To gain access to the sensitive areas of _Helios-II_, Nelson and his two colleagues were stopped by a watchman armed to the teeth, who made them stand in front of a camera, as their images were run through criminal and terrorist databases. Nelson showed his credentials, and was invited to put his hand on a palm-reader, as Amont and Kozlov talked quietly with the security guard. After a few seconds, a green light blinked above their heads, and the massive iron doors glided silently open to reveal a large tunnel lined with powerful lights that turned on automatically when their presence was detected by radar.

Nelson followed the two scientists into the automated guided car that was waiting in a bay alongside half a dozen similar ones. After a two-minute ride, during which the three men eyed each other without saying a word, the small vehicle stopped in the middle of a circular room with doors all around it. One of them, painted in fire-engine red, opened as soon as Mark Amont stepped out of the AGC, revealing the elevator that would take them down to the heart of the facility. After a breathtakingly fast descent, the elevator came to a gentle halt, and the door opened again, with a soft hiss. They had reached the deepest level, and Nelson wondered about the nuclear reactor that provided the energy needed for the operating of the accelerator.

Amont led them to the engineers' canteen, empty at this hour of the night. He made a beeline to the coffee machine, pressed a button, and a gurgle was heard, as the delightful smell of fresh mocha spread out in the air. In order to reduce the stress caused by the lack of natural light, the designers of the project had spared no expense to create a pleasant working space. Inside the huge complex, beverages and sandwiches were free and of gourmet quality, and a clever use of lighting and color helped eliminate the feeling of being underground.

The French physicist put two steaming cups on a table, and invited Nelson to make himself at home, as he sat down, his small, bony hands folded in front of him. Standing in the background, Kozlov stared at them with fixed, inscrutable eyes.

Nelson fished a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket.

"May I?"

"It's usually forbidden, but I don't think a single cigarette will set off the fire alarm," Amont replied with a tight smile. "So… What do you want to know?"

The unobtrusive humming of the ventilation filled the space with an almost supernatural intensity. In that world buried several hundred meters below the surface, the only audible sounds were those produced by the machinery that kept _Helios-II_ alive, and allowed the scientists to work safely. The ambiance was not very different from that of a submarine, and Nelson did not feel disturbed by the idea of the Alps above his head.

Yet, he knew that something did not add up. The two scientists had been too cooperative from the beginning.

"Let's start with the Control Room," Amont said quietly. "I assume that, being a submariner, you're immune to claustrophobia…"

"I am."

The Control Room was a kind of glazed cage, cluttered with instruments and computer screens, at the core of a labyrinth-like structure, of which a layman would struggle to understand the purpose. Kilometers of electric cables and sheathings of different colors ran along the galleries that plunged into the entrails of the earth. A tiny electrical vehicle was parked on a platform, beside a heap of supply boxes. The air reeked of hot plastic, resin, sweat and disinfectant.

"Here is the heart of _Helios-II_," Amont said, with a smug smile. "Here we track God's creative thought in its last retrenchments, supposing that He exists… Here, we're able to penetrate the secrets of space and time. Do you want to see how it works?"

Nelson wondered if he would live out the night, but an overwhelming curiosity obliterated his judgement, and he nodded his agreement. Amont entered some instructions into a terminal, and invited his companions to follow him into the main gallery. Unbeknownst to the admiral, the unsleeping eye of the surveillance camera shut down as soon as they exited the Control Room...

"The reactor is behind this door, at the end of a tunnel more than one kilometer long, built specially to sustain the effects of a major dysfunction. If it exploded, the whole utility would disappear under thousands of tons of debris, but nothing would leak outside. The mountain itself would not even be affected. Only the mastery of nuclear fusion has allowed us to design _Helios-II_, and carry on the experiments that were so encouraging with _Helios-I_. You know that the phenomena that occur in the reactor are the same as those that make the Sun and all the stars shine."

"I know. I'm a nuclear physicist myself and…"

"…a not so skilled spy, aren't you? Thanks to our use of the most innovative cooling techniques, _Helios-II_ is able to reach the highest levels of energy conceivable on earth."

The French man was quickly warming up to his subject, and his French accent deepened dramatically, as his hands danced in the air. The feeling of his own power filled him with enthusiasm, and Nelson's sense of foreboding grew in proportion.

"In this accelerator, we have succeeded in reversing the course of time. Initially, the relativistic effects were only annoying by-products of the research. People outside _Helios-I_ were reporting unexpected incidents, explosions, some odd apparitions, and so on. We were soon able to establish a link between the complaints of the neighboring population and the most energetic experiments. The problem was that the effects always happened BEFORE the tests, and we understood that we were on the verge of a major breakthrough. When a secretary found the newspaper of the following day on her desk, we knew that we had to be more careful."

Nelson tried to suppress the cold shiver that ran down his spine.

"What happened to the secretary?" he asked, although he guessed the answer.

"Unfortunately, she died in a car accident. The stakes were too high to let her babble on what she had seen. Never mind… What you have to understand is that everything is a matter of scale. Einstein did not invalidate Euclid's laws; he merely proved that Euclidean geometry does not apply on the larger scale of the universe. Explaining the observational results of modern astronomy required a change of paradigm. To explore the infinitely big as well as the infinitesimally small, we had to resort to new models. Einstein and Planck provided these models. Because the laws of classical physics do not always apply to the atomic and near-atomic level, the industry had to internalize the concepts of quantum mechanics. That's why your mobile phone and your laptop are so small. But that's not the end of it. We are on the brink of another revolution."

Amont touched the keyboard of the nearest computer with an almost amorous gesture.

"_Helios-I_ was not enough, we needed more energy, and more computing power, but in a time of economic crisis, funds were not easy to find. So we disclosed some of our knowledge to the governments involved in anti-terrorist struggle, underlining the advantage of being able to act before the attacks were carried out. It looks like science-fiction, but we got the funds, and _Helios-II_ was built in record time, but to keep it running, we needed more money. You're aware that the power does not reside in the hands of a lot of politicians whose hands are tied. We had to find who really calls the shots, and go where the big money and the true power are. Those people are not interested in the progress of knowledge, but only in acquiring more control. Our research is an asset they could not overlook, and they decided to help us, provided we agreed to pledge allegiance to their leaders."

"Whom do you work for? Al Qaida?"

Amont guffawed.

"Humor me, admiral! Don't try to make me believe you're that naïve! They are only the visible part of a bigger design, the bringers of chaos and eventually change. In the end, they, too, will have to disappear, as well as all the rabble-rousers of their kind who create the conditions for the advent of a new world, ruled by an intelligent elite, unaffected by the weaknesses that ruined our so-called democratic countries. The power is in the vaults of the banks and in the hands of those who own the banks."

Nelson looked around him, wondering how he would get out of the trap he had fallen into. He had been naïve, indeed, to think that he was dealing with mere scientists. Amont pointed to a device that looked like a space capsule, connected to a thick web of pipes and wires.

"It's in that container that we confine the experimental subjects: objects or animals. The time shift has never exceeded a few days, but theoretically we could send a man two or three thousand years in the past, if we wished. Unfortunately, it would be impossible to track him down, and validate the experiment. A nice way of getting rid of nosy people, don't you think?"

Nelson averted his eyes, pondering his next move. Amont, short and somewhat frail would not be a problem, but Kozlov, who was careful to stay out of reach, was built like a prize fighter, and probably armed.

"We have discovered that space-time is not only curved, but somehow folded on itself like puff pastry. The problem was to create shortcuts between the layers, like the 'wormholes' the physicists speculated about in the thirties. Everything is caught in a kind of moving network, and all we have to do is to tear the framework apart to move from one level to another. It requires a huge discharge of energy, and very complex calculations, not to mention the question of the retrieval of the _chrononaut_, once his mission is completed. We've brought back rabbits from short trips, but we still have to experiment with a man on more remote destinations."

While speaking, he ran his hands on a tactile screen. Systems were awakening; warning lights were blinking, as the sleeping monster came into life with a soft purr.

"Look…"

In spite of his chilling fear, Nelson obeyed, and stared at the screen where a map had appeared. He recognized the familiar outlines of the Egyptian coast, and the course of the Nile. A pointer moved on the map, highlighting the places where he remembered having visited some spectacular monuments, with Edith and Lee some years ago. Amont briefly put his forefinger on the screen.

"Thebes…" he said. "The capital of the Ramesside dynasty… Have you ever dreamed of meeting a Pharaoh? Of solving the mystery of the pyramids? We are connected to hundreds of databases throughout the world. If you want, I can show you Athens or Rome… I can send a time traveller to one of these places. I've already tried with rats, but of course I have no means to know if they arrived safely. No feedback possible with a rat. The energy is not as big a problem as the accuracy and precision of the navigation. What I'm offering to you is an unprecedented insight into the most fascinating civilization of human history…"

From the corner of his eye, Nelson caught a swift movement, and readied himself for the assault, but it was too late. Kozlov's right fist, as hard as a sledgehammer, opened a gash in his cheekbone, and as he tried to duck under the second blow, a blinding pain exploded in his head. His knees buckled under him, and overwhelmed by a terrible feeling of fatality, he saw the ground rushing up to meet him. He had the time to think that Lee would not come to save the day, before darkness closed on him.


End file.
